My name is John Parker Hammond. I was born on March 14, 1928. What follows is a record of certain events in which I took part between the years 1980 and 1997, on an island I will callâ€¦ Site B. Site B was not to be a theme park, but a research station. This was where we did the real work.

By 1989, International Genetic Technologies had succeeded in their designs to genetically recreate the dinosaurs. It was an unprecedented accomplishment, the pinnacle of 20th century science; a work to rank with the achievements of Galileo or Einstein.

But it was not all so easy or so simple, as it appeared. One seldom hears the true history of such events. What happened at the place, where the world changed? How it began? What were the reasons? What was the cost?

Chuckling in amusement, the heavyset man closed the book in his hands. He positioned it so that the spine faced outward, and then he placed it back on the bookstore shelf. The spine read, â€˜JURASSIC TIME: The Memoir of John Parker Hammond.â€™

Turning around on his bulky frame, he walked slowly through the dimly lit store toward the cashierâ€™s counter. He scratched his long, unkempt beard thoughtfully, wondering if the rain had stopped outside. When he reached the desk, he looked out the large window to his left and grimaced. The night sky was sparsely illuminated by the streetlights, and the cars drove through the deep puddles which the driving rain left in the asphalt. This rain had continued for the past five days, and many of the citizens of Los Angeles were growing tired of its consequences. Several roads were being flooded, flowers were dying from over-watering, and it was impossible to do almost anything outside.

â€œI hate this,â€ the man said to himself. He turned back and began to talk to the cashier, a young brunette woman with wire-rim glasses.

â€œThink this rain will stop soon?â€ he asked in a gruff voice. â€œIâ€™m gettinâ€™ real sick of sloshinâ€™ through muck wherever I go.â€

The cashier didnâ€™t look up from her console. She had seen this man many times before. â€œWho knows?â€ she said in a monotone. â€œIâ€™m just as sick of it as you are, Vinney.â€

â€œOh sorry, didnâ€™t know I was bothering you from your important work,â€ Vinney said sarcastically. â€œSeems like all you ever do is type on that thing.â€

â€œIâ€™m a busy woman with a jobâ€¦ unlike you.â€

Vinney laughed, making his fat stomach bounce about. â€œWell, the job part bothers me a bit, but Iâ€™m sure as hell glad I ainâ€™t no woman!â€ He continued to laugh in his loud, obnoxious snort. The cashier struggled to keep her composure.

Take it easy Jill, she told herself. She knew she couldnâ€™t lose her temper with Vinney. It wouldnâ€™t do anything; it never had before. She just wished he would get out and at least try to get a job somewhere, instead of coming to her bookstore and annoying her.

Vinney finished his obnoxious snorting, and Jill sighed with relief as he began to walk towards the door to leave. But then, he turned and spoke again.

â€œHey Jill, you read that â€˜John Hammond dino park thingâ€™ over there in section N12?

â€œI glazed over the prologue briefly. Why?â€

â€œOh man, I never heard such crap in my life! Why isnâ€™t that thing in the fiction section?â€

Jill curled her upper lip in annoyance. â€œWho knows Vinney? There was that accident in San Diego a year ago, remember?â€ Jill still remembered seeing the huge Tyrannosaurus Rex in San Diego on her TV; the newscast had been projected across the United States. She remembered the huge body, the pebbled skin, the sharp teeth, and the cold reptilian eyes. Just remembering it made her shudder.

Vinney gave a dismissive wave of his hand. â€œAh, I remember that. But so what? Sure, they made these dinos, but what else do we know for sure? Who the hell knows if they had some huge factory, and all those patents, and especially if the animals are still alive?â€

â€œI heard that theyâ€™re ordering an investigation of the island. I guess they want to see if all that stuff in the memoir is true.â€

â€œAh, I say itâ€™s just a way for the guy to get money, thatâ€™s all. They can go to that island all they want, and they wonâ€™t find nothinâ€™. You hear me? Nothinâ€™.â€ And with that, Vinney opened the door, pulled up his hood, and stepped out into the drenching rain.

Jill put her hands to her head as the door closed. She growled in exasperation. Vinney had come to her bookstore every night for the past week and a half. She was tempted to call security, but she had once before, and Vinney had been so scared that he wet himself. He began screaming that he didnâ€™t want to go to jail, that he was a good guy who was down on his luck, that the world was against him. After that day, she decided not to call security again. Besides, Vinney was harmless. So she did her best to put up with him.

She took her hands off of her forehead and continued typing, putting in the sales for the day. A half hour passed, during which she finished the dayâ€™s sales log and started on her mid-term paper for college. She was a senior this year and was planning to become an English teacher when she graduated, which was why she had convinced her uncle to pass down the bookstore to her. It was the perfect job to help her get ready. Jill Bateman was now twenty-six years old and always planning ahead, preparing for the future, and she had been ever since she was young. It was how she was raised.

Just then, she heard the bell above the entrance jingle. She turned from her console, and smiled when she saw who had stepped in.

A woman in a thick, tan colored coat stepped through the doorway, breathing heavily. She was tall and slim; her jeans and top fit tightly against her, pronouncing her figure. She stepped out of the way of the door, took off her hood, and threw back her red hair.

Jill still smiled. â€œSo Anne, you get off early today?â€

Annette Montoya smiled back. â€œYeah,â€ she said. â€œI swear, itâ€™s about time they gave me an early break. Iâ€™ve been working my butt off at the restaurant for the past two months!

Jill laughed. â€œWell, Iâ€™m glad you took the time to come to my humble little store again,â€ she said sarcastically.

â€œYeah right Jill,â€ Anne replied, still smiling. â€œYouâ€™ve got a good college education, your own store, and a good husband. If youâ€™re humble, then Iâ€™m just about the most pious person on this earth.â€

â€œYeah yeah, whatever you say Anne. You donâ€™t have it that bad, you know.â€

â€œBut not as good as you, Jill. If I donâ€™t get my rent in by next Sunday, the landlordâ€™s gonna take action. I canâ€™t keep begging him to let me pay it off later. And my sisterâ€™s still miserable over her divorce. I canâ€™t tell you how many times Iâ€™ve had to talk to her and sheâ€™s bawling her head off.â€

Jill shrugged her shoulders. â€œHey, I donâ€™t know why Maria is so upset about it. Hell, Tom borderline abused her! I donâ€™t know why this is so terrible for her.â€

Anne rolled her eyes. â€œMaria is just so insecure. She thinks that sheâ€™ll never meet another man she can be serious with.â€

â€œOh yeah? Tell her that,â€ Anne replied sourly. Then she walked into the store and began scanning the shelves.

Jill turned back to her console and continued typing her paper. She could hear Anne over in the fiction section; Anne stopped by the store every week to get a new book. Or, as she called it, the weekly escape from her boring life.

After a few minutes, Anne came out from the back of the store. She put her hands to her hips.

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